


Cutting Me Down (Like Slow Poison)

by PeopleCoveredInFish



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Breathplay, Corsetry, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleCoveredInFish/pseuds/PeopleCoveredInFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kid doesn’t come cheap, no surprise there, and that’s the indulgence at the root of their relationship, the understanding—the simplicity of pure exchange value darkened with lace complications; Hanamiya’s moods moving them through non-linear trajectories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting Me Down (Like Slow Poison)

He’s not sure if he’s capable of such miscalculation, but there are some days when he considers the possibility that it’s all been a huge mistake. The kid doesn’t come cheap, no surprise there, and that’s the indulgence at the root of their relationship, the understanding—the simplicity of pure exchange value darkened with lace complications; Hanamiya’s moods moving them through non-linear trajectories.

Initially, the offer had borne all the standard genetic material of a business contract, laid right out in the eight-years stale air of someone’s local dive—come live with me, and I’ll pay all your expenses. The boy, appearing resignedly comfortable in a hoodie, his dark hair slick from rain, had taken in the cut and style of the stranger’s suit, the make of his glasses, the veiled guile of his grin, and agreed before even finishing his whiskey. At the time, Imayoshi had categorized it as simple-mindedness, which was to be expected—it wasn’t as though he’d be keeping an eighteen-year-old for his mind, after all—now, he weighs the overly-quick acquiescence against the ever-growing turret of Hanamiya’s risky decisions and refiles this first transaction under the experimental heading.

Hanamiya had been testing him.

His lips around Imayoshi’s cock that first night in the back of his private car hadn’t been a surprise; Imayoshi had wanted a pretty distraction and he’d bought one. Over the next few weeks his new toy keeps him happy enough—they fall into a routine that’s easy in its excess, replete with spa treatments and exclusive tailoring and he nearly misses the way Hanamiya looks at him one afternoon, face slick with sweat and semen and the barest outline of a smirk. Imayoshi has never been so glad to be underestimated.

The garment when he brings it back to the penthouse nestles into delicate tufts of tissue and prefigures the shape it will create from Hanamiya when the latter drags it from the box, face open and braced with expectation. “Isn’t it sweet,” Imayoshi comments, the words too drained to be anything but rhetorical, and Hanamiya holds the corset up to the light from the bedroom chandelier. Labyrinthine compositions of black lace overlay the pink satin body; the center pulled together with a delicate bow set along a length of ribbon.

“Thoughtful,” says Hanamiya, tone trapped in the thin space between expressive pleasure and mockery, and he moves to place the gift on the marble-topped table between them with more careful attention than Imayoshi has ever seen him display. Hanamiya moves his hands to his collar and slips button after button from its confines, dove gray dress shirt parting in the center over a smooth expanse of chest. Imayoshi watches from his armchair, allowing himself a small hum of approval as Hanamiya sheds the shirt onto the floor and starts on his designer jeans. The black denim folds into itself as it slides down Hanamiya’s thighs along with his underwear, pooling onto the thick carpet under his feet, and he’s standing in front of Imayoshi, his muscles taut in their quiet pride.

“Well now,” says Imayoshi, legs uncrossed and moving to stand, “shall we give it a try?”

Hanamiya lifts a shoulder into the bare reaches of a shrug. It’s maybe a bit too studied for eighteen. Imayoshi presses his lips to the soft slope of the boy’s neck, and thinks that perhaps he should give Hanamiya a bit more credit. He draws the garment into his hands and inclines his head with Hanamiya’s arms, up, up.

The inner bones of the corset slip across Hanamiya’s torso, mesh catching lightly on the points of his nipples and Imayoshi’s hand is gentle on the small of his back, guiding him to the foot of the bed. Hanamiya reaches for the bedpost—blossoms the weight of his name carved into the dark wood, and Imayoshi notes his preemptive quick breath and considers the trace smell of furniture polish in the air around them.

It’s a tidy job, tightening the laces, satin smooth against Imayoshi’s fingertips. Hanamiya’s inhalations grow sharper; more labored. The pink fabric lines his waist with a dainty delicacy, and Imayoshi leans in to nibble his shoulders and salt them with kisses. Hanamiya responds with an airy moan, strung through with idle deceit, but if he’s waiting for Imayoshi to call his bluff he is going to be disappointed.

Imayoshi continues to stroke a litany of sounds out of him; pulling him into static. Before long, the tightness of the corset begins to produce its desired effect—Hanamiya scrabbles against the lines of his captivity, gasps trapped against the ceiling of his throat, and Imayoshi presses into him, nearly numb with the closeness of it. It’s a minimal effort to wrap his hands around that throat, to squeeze until he feels the fluttering of pulse against the tips of his fingers. They move together against the bedpost, Hanamiya clinging with waning strength, gasps haggard and true, and Imayoshi lets him go, feels the release that propels him into his own.

Hanamiya slides into his arms, drawing breath like water from a deep well, and Imayoshi begins to unlace him. “All right?”

Imayoshi’s question reaches beyond this singular encounter, but Hanamiya merely looks directly at him, calm restored, and says, “Always.”


End file.
